A Nasty Little Tidbit
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: Mirage is bored with being a submissive, and Syndrome is acting difficult, so Mirage becomes Miss Haffton, a diabolical Health teacher, and Syndrome must succumb to her wrath.


* * *

A Nasty Little Tidbit

* * *

"You are _such _a loudmouth," Mirage smirks, massaging her smart, smooth legs with sandalwood oil, raising up one perfect leg, and then the other, her black bathrobe clingy to her possessively. 

Syndrome turns to look at her, turns from the three-way mirror that now showcases his backside, his broad shoulders and tight back, ridiculously small hips that don't even seem to be part of the same form, freckles scattered all over, clean, white. He's in black slacks only, his toes bare. "Oh, yeah, but you _love _it, you know you do, why would you stand behind me all the time, giggling into your damn espresso if you didn't _love _it?" he challenges, always up for an argument.

Yet, as always, she is complacent. "_Mmhm, okay_," is all she says, and slides back onto the bed, the watery mattress jiggling blissfully, lazily beneath her. She likes to have sex in _this _room because this room is the most important of all. Modern, silky, sophisticated.

"You don't even _know _how hot you are," Syndrome says casually, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Tell me about it."

"Ha ha, very _humble _of you," he grins, and turns back to the mirror, where he's working on his ever-vexing hair-do, even though it's nearly time to be asleep, at least that's what non-insomniacs would say.

"That _isn't _what I meant," she tells him crisply, and cracks her back. "I mean _tell me about it. _Not the _expression. _Just _talk to me. Talk to me about us._"

Syndrome makes a face. "Oh. So it's gonna be like _that _tonight?"

"What, would you rather it be all grunting and groaning?"

"_No_, but—"

"You talk everything _else _to death. Why not _excite _me with a--" Mirage flexes her shoulders, her perky breasts rising and then dropping," a nasty little _tidbit."_

Syndrome knows he's been defeated. "All right, I see your direction. I—I think—" he looks very inspired for a moment, and then looks totally furious. "I'm _not _going to make some happy, flowery _poem_!" he declares. "I would be goin' on _nothin', _that just doesn't fly with me!"

"Are you _stupid? _I don't _want _a **poem**. Honestly, Syndrome, don't make me use the Omni against _you_! We're always _creative, _so why not use your overly loud mouth and your affection for monologues for _me?"_

His mouth is twitching into a smile. "Low-self esteem lately?"

"Not at all," is her firm answer. "_Convince _me I'm hot."

"You have to inspire me more than that," he says cheekily.

Mirage sighs. "It always has to be a _step _further, doesn't it?"

"Wait, just hear me out!" he demands, becoming animated. "Let's say you're a _very _submissive Super who has wandered onto the Island unknowingly, and I'm waiting—"

"To ravish me before killing me?" Mirage looks bored. "_Done _it."

Syndrome pouts. "I **know**, but I liked how I got to use my zero-point to stabilize you—"

"Take _advantage _of my innocence, you mean. _My god, _I felt so _sorry _for my character!" Mirage declares. "She was such an asset to the civilian world and then Syndrome raped and killed her in five seconds—I don't think that's fair! You weren't being very nice that night, I remember, don't think I forgot!"

"I was in a mood. I felt destructive. I'm sorry," he shrugs casually.

"It's all right."

"Okay, okay. What about--- you're this unassuming millionaire's daughter, and I'm your stepbrother who has just moved into the mansion, and you're a daddy's girl who's never been sexually awakened—"

"_Incest!" _snorts Mirage. "You're in _rare form _tonight! Besides, I'm tired of being coy and virginal!"

"Aw, but I _like _when you get all sentimental and talk about how your parents will kill me if they find out!"

Mirage crosses her arms. "I'm _not _going to be submissive. I've been Little Miss Priss for _too _long, Syndrome, and I'm getting tired of it!"

"All right!" he snaps. "Have it your way!" He ponders for a moment, stroking his chin. "**Got it!" **

Mirage smiles, intrigued.

"Let's say I'm this sexy biology teacher, and you're a slutty student who—"

"Nope," Mirage retorts. "No, no and no. I'm _not _the student."

"_Aw—"_

Mirage suddenly perks up, and flips her white tresses back. "_You're _an eighth grade boy who always does his homework," she says quickly," and you don't know what sex is, and you come in after class to ask for help, and I'm your health teacher, and you need to learn the ropes, so you ask _me, _and I totally _screw you up for life."_

"Wow, this is sorta familiar," Syndrome chuckles.

"_You're _the student," Mirage affirms.

"Fine. _I'm _the student."

* * *

Syndrome is wincing because Mirage made him put on a white shirt _and _a tie. "I feel like _Buddy," _he whines, and she laughs mercilessly, wearing a dress of metal and black leather. 

"Good, "she says. "Buddy, from what you've told me, had shame. I _like _shame."

"You devil-woman, you!" Syndrome cackles deliciously.

"**Be quiet!" **snaps Mirage, slapping him across the shoulder with a hard, wooden ruler. "Read chapter _twenty-eight, and don't annoy me, or I'll hold you in for lunch!"_

"Detention? Ooh, never been there before, I like this," Syndrome grins, but his face immediately goes stony at Mirage's furious, smoldering gaze.

* * *

"Any questions?" asks Mrs. Haffton, who, they've concluded, just got out of a very nasty divorce with a man who she tortured horribly. He fled the country to get away from her wrath. 

Buddy looks up at her adoringly.

"Yes, Mr. Pine?"

"I—uh—I don't quite _get _the female anatomy." He looks pathetic, ashamed. "I mean…" He swallows hard. "It's so _complicated…" _He trails off. Syndrome whispers in a sing-song voice: "_Mir-aage, I don't know if I can dumb myself down enough for this—"_

"**What was that?" **she shouts. "Speak up, Mr. Pine, I can't understand you when you mutter." Her eyes darken and she whispers back: "_How do you think it would be for **me, **playing a Virgin stepsister for **God's **sake!"_

"Sorry, Mrs. Haffton, I guess—I guess I'm just not _old _enough to understand. I'll _never _have a girlfriend, I mean, I'm a _nerd. _I only understand computer language, I can't understand human wants or needs—" He stands up, he's running away with his role now. "I wish, I _wish _an _experienced _woman could _help _me!"

"Mr. Pine, if you wouldn't _mind,_ could you please go over there and shut the door?"

Buddy looks at her wide-eyed. "You mean—"

"Do what I _say_, you little _freak!" _screams Miss Haffton, and whaps Buddy again with the ruler.

"Shit," Syndrome says. "That hurt!"

"Sorry."

* * *

Minutes later, Buddy's saying," Help me, I _don't _know, _I'm not sure," _and Miss Haffton shoves him up against the wall. 

"I'm going to make you wish you'd _never _selected Health 101 for your elective," she spits in his face.

He laughs adoringly.

"You're going to respond to my _every_ command," she states angrily. "You're going to start _down, _and work your way _up."_

Buddy willingly complies, getting on his knees and pushing her tight dress upward, the leather squeaking against his sweating fingers.

"Now make me forget Dave," commands Miss Haffton, arching her back against the wall.

Syndrome stops, his finger frozen in mid-air. "Wait—who is _Dave?"_

"My _husband, you idiot!"_

"Oh, okay. Dave. Sounds like a real keeper."

"Shut _up."_

* * *

"Miss Haffton was too mean," Syndrome complains. 

Mirage is wiggling out of her bondage dress and sighing. "You have a tragic problem with female authority, and it's not her fault."

"But come on, that foreplay was pretty decent!"

"I _guess_," she sighs, "but honestly, you hardly made me tense up, you were _too _gentle!"

"Hey! You _told _me to be innocent! You _told _me I was sexually unprepared! He wouldn'tve just _known _how to grope her—it was his first _time_!"

"Yes, but we didn't even get past _that—"_

"You know what this means," Syndrome shrugs.

"Oh no. _What?"_

He crosses the room, and switches on the huge stereo system. A familiar beat to the both of them plays, a sultry rap starts and Syndrome begins to do the robot while sliding across the floor.

"You're stuck with me tonight," he tells her with a wink.

She sighs. "There are _worse _things," she says with a smile, and, only clad in her black lace bra and panties she proceeds to the middle of the room where they both get down with their bad selves.

In seconds, Syndrome's back down to only pants.

Mirage grinds up his leg and bites his ear affectionately. He runs his tongue up her cheek and then down her throat, and they collapse on the waterbed.

"Back, front, down or up?" Mirage asks.

"All of the above?" is Syndrome's answer.

"I think you just earned an A plus."

* * *


End file.
